Rich Girl, Poor Girl

by Val Wood

  Luke turned to him with mild eyes. ‘Whenever you said sir like that when you were a boy I always knew there was some serious intent. You’re not going to leave me, are you?’ he said suddenly. ‘Not going to set up on your own land somewhere?’

  ‘No,’ Howard said. ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. But you’re a young man; you must have ambition.’

  ‘I do have ambition,’ Howard agreed. ‘But it’s to keep this farm successful. To carry on with the tradition that you’ve followed since you came here.’

  Luke nodded in satisfaction. He had taken over from his uncle, and he was touched to think that Howard wanted to do the same.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ There was a suggestion of a break in his voice. ‘And even if Edwin hadn’t ... gone away, had these incidents not occurred, I realize that he didn’t feel the same about the farm as you do.’

  ‘No.’ Howard was careful not to insinuate that Edwin hated getting his hands dirty, which was nevertheless true. ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘So what is it? What do you wish to discuss?’

  Howard put down his glass and clasped his hands together. ‘It’s something I’ve been thinking about for some time, especially since you married Anna and are now expecting another child to add to your family. Between you, you’ll have five children, not including me, and then there’s Rosalie and Polly living here as well. That’s eight of us, and the two of you makes ten. I know,’ he added as Luke started to say something. ‘Edwin isn’t here, but he might be in the future.’

  He didn’t really believe that Edwin would return, but he wouldn’t hurt Luke by voicing his opinion on that subject.

  ‘I think too that Anna might like to have a little more space in the house, and so what I was wondering is ...’ He took a breath. ‘Would you let me have High Ridge House to live in? I can work from there just as well as I can from here, and I’d still be here every day.’

  ‘It’s a virtual ruin,’ Luke said. ‘Though I agree it’s in a splendid position.’ He frowned a little and looked quizzically at his nephew. ‘Alone? Would you live there alone? Or is there something you’re not telling me?’ He laughed when he saw Howard raise his eyebrows. ‘There is! Are you contemplating marriage?’

  ‘I might be.’ Howard grinned. ‘More than possibly, in fact. But not yet, not until I have a home to offer.’

  ‘Which you haven’t at the moment. I see. Well, in that case I can’t stand between a man and his heart’s desire. Do we know the lady?’

  ‘Mm, yes. But I can’t reveal her name as she doesn’t know yet. And she might not have me,’ Howard said wryly.

  ‘She doesn’t know? You mean you haven’t asked her?’

  ‘I haven’t. I rather think that she regards me as the joker in the pack. I’m quite sure she doesn’t take me seriously at all.’

  The following day, after they had finished their midday meal, Howard announced that he was going to ride over to High Ridge House.

  ‘That’s nice,’ Polly said, and asked eagerly, ‘would you like any company?’

  ‘Don’t mind.’ Howard caught Luke’s quizzical glance, which he chose to ignore. ‘Would you like to come?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ Polly looked at Anna for approval. ‘Unless ...’

  ‘I’m going to have a lie down, Polly,’ Anna said. ‘You go. You’ve worked so hard these last few days you deserve some time to relax. I wondered if later you’d perhaps help me draw up a list of requirements for when we advertise for a new housekeeper.’

  Polly’s face fell. ‘Yes,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Of course. I think I know just ’sort of person you need.’

  She hasn’t thought of me for the post, Polly thought as she ran upstairs to change. And yet she won’t expect me to stay here if Rosalie goes to her father’s. I’m nothing to them, even though they are always so nice to me.

  She gave a deep sigh. Just when I think that life is grand and I’m enjoying myself. I’ve got a horse and a dog and a little lamb, except that I don’t know where Louis is now he’s out on the moor; and I’ve got Rosalie and Howard, almost a family. Suddenly, it struck her with such force that if she had to leave she might never see them again.

  ‘Come on, then. What’s up?’ Howard had already saddled up Hero when she joined him at the stables. ‘Lost a tanner?’

  She shook her head and kept her mouth buttoned up. She was almost afraid to speak in case she blubbered.

  Howard glanced at her but didn’t ask any further questions as they rode up on to the moor. There was the sound of sporadic shooting from Sleights Moor, the cackle of grouse and the call of golden plover, but even the occasional whistle of a train over at Grosmont barely disturbed the peace of the day.

  They rode on towards High Ridge House and Polly sighed deeply.

  ‘So are you going to tell me?’ Howard asked.

  ‘What?’ she mumbled. ‘What’s there to tell?’

  ‘Why you’re so miserable. Where’s our merry Poll?’ Howard frowned. ‘You were all right this morning. What’s changed?’

  They slowed to a walk. ‘It was just when—’

  ‘When what?’ he asked, leaning forward to see her face.

  Polly took a breath. ‘When Mrs Kingston asked me if I’d help her advertise for a housekeeper.’

  ‘I’d have thought you’d be good at that. You’re so practical.’

  ‘Well, that’s just it.’ She turned an anguished face towards him. ‘I was going to ask if I could be her housekeeper if Rosalie goes away, cos if she does – go away, I mean – I’d have to leave and I might never see any of you ever again.’

  Polly began to cry, and Howard reined in. Dismounting, he turned to her and put out his arms to help her down.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She wept against his rough jacket. ‘But I’ve been so happy here and I can’t bear to go back to the life I once had. I just can’t!’

  Her hair was so soft, he thought as he rested his chin on her head, and it was lighter in colour, bleached by the sun, than it had been when she first came to live here. He recalled meeting her and Rosalie for the first time, at the inn near Hackness. Polly had had a red nose and looked completely bedraggled, and Amos had told him later how she’d fallen in a snow-filled ditch and thought it hilarious. In Amos’s opinion she was way above the usual run of young women.

  ‘She’s a good ’un, that one, Mr Howard,’ he had said. ‘That she is.’

  ‘I think you’re wrong, Polly,’ Howard said now, kissing her wet cheek. ‘On two counts. First of all I don’t think that Rosalie will go to live with her father.’

  She looked up at him and sniffed, blinking away the tears which clung to her lashes. He dug in his breeches pocket, brought out a clean handkerchief and handed it to her. Polly blew her nose, loudly, and he smiled.

  ‘And what was the other?’ she said, darting a glance at him.

  Still holding her, he looked down into her eyes. ‘The other what?’ he said vaguely, kissing her forehead.

  Polly licked her lips. ‘You said there were two counts.’

  ‘Two counts?’

  Polly laughed and hiccuped at the same time. She blew her nose again. ‘You are an idiot,’ she gulped. ‘You said there were two counts why I shouldn’t—’ Tears filled her eyes again and she laughed and cried together. ‘I can’t remember now. Something about Mrs Kingston, and me leaving.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he said, releasing her. ‘Tell you what, let’s go on up to the house and we’ll both try to remember what it is that we’ve forgotten!’

  He helped her mount, lifting her up by her waist, and then he sprang easily into his saddle.

  ‘I’d like to learn to do that,’ Polly said. ‘Can you teach me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Anything. Anything at all.’

  They rode in silence the rest of the way, Polly giving the occasional sniff or taking a deep breath as if she’d been running. When they arrived, the descending sun was hitting the sandstone of th
e building, giving it a rosy glow.

  ‘This place is so lovely,’ Polly murmured. ‘It ought to be lived in. It’s surely a sin that it stands empty.’

  ‘Rabbits and ravens,’ he said. ‘That’s what I used to find here when I was a boy.’

  They sat on the ground and looked down the valley. ‘If I could have a wish ...’ Polly began.

  ‘Yes? What would it be?’ Howard looked at her. The sun was casting a glow over her and he wished that he was a painter like Sonny, so that he could capture this moment.

  ‘Oh.’ She shrugged and sighed. ‘I don’t think I should say. An old woman I once knew used to say be careful what you wish for.’

  ‘You have to have wishes,’ he protested. ‘And dreams. What is life without them?’

  ‘I never used to wish for anything but food in my belly and that Ma and me would allus have work so that we’d keep a roof over our heads.’ Polly was pensive, her face sad. ‘And these last six months I’ve had more food than I’d ever imagined I could eat, and good friends and a comfortable bed, and now,’ she paused and her voice cracked, ‘now there’s a chance I might lose them.’

  ‘It must have been hard for you, Polly,’ he said softly.

  ‘Harder than you think.’ She kept her eyes on the panorama before her, etching it on to her mind. ‘And although I don’t want to forget that time, neither do I want to go back to it.’

  ‘You won’t have to, Polly,’ he said, taking hold of her hand. He turned it over to look at her palm. Such a small hand, he thought, and no sign now in the softness of her skin to show the hardship she had endured.

  Without thinking, he kissed her fingers, letting his lips linger, and she turned and gazed at him, a look of bewilderment on her face.

  ‘Kissing it better.’ He smiled at her, and then, with a sigh, he stretched out on the heather and put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Polly continued to gaze at him and wondered why she should feel so strange: so filled with hope and yet confused and somehow bewitched.

  When she was in bed that night she pondered on Howard’s reason for going to High Ridge House. He did nothing whilst he was there except look up at the walls and roof, noting the tiles that had broken away and then spread his gaze round the outside.

  She drew her knees up high and hugged her arms round them, feeling comforted. ‘You won’t have to, Polly,’ he’d said when she’d told him that she didn’t want to go back to the life she had had. What did he mean? He hadn’t enlarged on it. But she’d believed him, and then he’d kissed her fingers, and – and before that he kissed me when I cried.

  She touched her cheek and ran her fingers down to her lips, and remembered that she had felt that she would have liked him to kiss her mouth too. Which was ridiculous, because he was her good friend Howard who wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing.

  Polly smiled and pulled the blanket over her head and hunched into herself. But, she thought, I wish that he had.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Rosalie travelled back to Scarborough with mixed emotions. Sonny had taken her to the railway station and seen her on to the train. He hadn’t said much as she stepped on, except that he wouldn’t promise to write.

  ‘May I write to you?’ she’d asked.

  He’d shaken his head. ‘I don’t know where I’ll be, but I’ll come back in the spring. I might be a rich man or still a poor one.’ He’d smiled as he said it.

  ‘It won’t matter,’ she said wistfully.

  ‘It might.’ He’d tapped his finger to his lips. ‘Don’t make any promises, Rosalie. Not yet.’

  Did he know, she thought as the train steamed away from the platform. Did he know that I was going to say that I would be waiting for him?

  She felt both happy and sad. Happy because she knew that she had claimed his heart, but sad that she wouldn’t see him over the long winter. She was worried, too. What if her father insisted that she go to Aldershot?

  Arriving in Scarborough, she took a hansom to Mrs Carleton’s house. Holiday visitors were strolling the streets or walking on the sands. Children and adults were paddling at the water’s edge, and she thought that she would like to do that. She felt curiously uninhibited and decided that she would buy a bathing costume and swim in the sea. Polly would like to do that, she thought as the cab drew up at the house. She would think it great fun.

  Mrs Carleton’s maid took her through to the sitting room where Mrs Carleton was enjoying a glass of sherry as she sat in the window which overlooked the gardens in the square and watched people pass by.

  ‘This is one of my favourite occupations,’ she told Rosalie, inviting her to join her whilst her maid prepared tea. ‘I sit here and wonder where all these people have come from. I can tell the residents from the visitors: the visitors saunter along as if they’ve all the time in the world, whilst the residents always walk very purposefully. Now, my dear, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. Not on my part, I hasten to say, but on Clementina’s. She has already gone home, taking the pony and trap. My housekeeper told her that you would be returning, but’ – she lifted her hands in mock despair – ‘she is such an impulsive young woman.’

  ‘Oh!’ Rosalie exclaimed. ‘So what am I to do?’

  ‘You must stay with me, of course! I should love to have your company. Perhaps you’d like to write to Howard and he will come for you when you’re ready to leave.’ She gave her an endearing smile. ‘But there’s no hurry. No hurry at all.’

  ‘Why do you think Clementina made such a hasty decision?’ Rosalie asked. ‘I thought she usually stayed for the whole summer.’

  ‘So she does.’ Mrs Carleton looked thoughtful. ‘But a letter came for her on the day after you called and she was packed within the hour. She said she couldn’t wait for you but must go home immediately.’

  ‘A letter from her father, perhaps?’ Rosalie suggested.

  ‘Possibly,’ Mrs Carleton agreed. ‘I have never known her receive correspondence from anyone else.’

  Rosalie hesitated. It wasn’t her business to talk about Edwin, but she thought that if the letter was from Luke it must have been to tell Clemmie of Edwin’s behaviour. That would certainly explain her hasty departure.

  ‘I think he misses her,’ Rosalie said, recalling that he had said that he wished Clemmie could have been at home for the shoot. She was sure he would not want his son’s actions to become common knowledge, even though Mrs Carleton was family.

  After an early supper, Mrs Carleton suggested a walk. It was still warm and sunny and she told Rosalie that there were great plans for Scarborough.

  ‘It’s already a lovely town, but we now have a wonderful Spa building. I can recall the old wells where people queued to drink the water, which I must add tastes quite disgusting, and though I am ready to concede that it might have health-giving properties, in my opinion listening to the music which is played in the new concert hall is far more beneficial to the health of body and soul than the waters ever were.’

  As they promenaded, Mrs Carleton, who was dressed in dark brown figured silk and a brown and gold straw hat with a veil, nodded to some acquaintances and greeted several others. Occasionally she stopped to talk for a few minutes, introducing Rosalie as a friend of her granddaughter. When they reached the seats overlooking the sea they sat down to rest, and Rosalie admired the Italian style terraces and stone balustraded staircases of the Spa, the new bandstand and the floral beds.

  ‘It’s no wonder that Clementina likes to come to Scarborough so often,’ she remarked as she sipped lemonade. ‘It’s quite lovely, and although of course she loves being with you she must enjoy the company of other young people.’

  She had noticed the young women lagging behind their chaperons in small groups and intentionally or not attracting the attention of young men, who tipped their hats or gave exaggerated bows as they passed them, causing the young ladies to giggle into their handkerchiefs.

  Mrs Carleton agreed. ‘I believe she thinks that she might find
her own true love here in this romantic setting, but Clementina will find someone more suitable at home. She doesn’t realize it now, but eventually she’ll be happier in the country with her dogs and her horses.’

  She turned to Rosalie. ‘And what of you, my dear? Have you any plans for your future?’

  Rosalie found herself confiding in Mrs Carleton. Had Polly been there she would have opened her heart to her, but in her absence this warm and friendly grandmother, who was open and logical and wise to a fault, didn’t talk down to her as another older woman might have done, but listened quietly and seemed to remember what it was like to be young.

  ‘So I shall have my legacy at eighteen,’ Rosalie concluded. ‘It will mean an income of fifty pounds a year until I’m twenty-one, and then I shall receive the capital. It will be enough to give me some freedom, but not so much that I will be considered a good catch. Not that I think,’ she added hastily, ‘that Mr Blake would be so mercenary.’

  ‘Has this admirable fellow given you any cause to think he wishes to marry you?’

  Rosalie hesitated. Sonny had not said it in so many words. ‘I believe he thinks I’m too young to know my mind.’ She swallowed and thought how bereft she had felt as the train pulled away and he hadn’t given her any reason to think he would ask her father for her hand. ‘At our last meeting he said that I mustn’t make any promises. He believes that women should be allowed the freedom to express themselves and make their own decisions regarding their lives. He is,’ she added, ‘a most unconventional man.’

  ‘I hope, then, that Mr Blake has considered that this year has been full of changes for you,’ Mrs Carleton said. ‘You lost your mother, I understand, and then almost immediately went to live on the moors with an uncle you didn’t know. You have been living a life totally unlike anything you had known before. He must have realized that you were very vulnerable and,’ she paused and looked over the rolling, crashing waves below them, ‘therefore could have become attached to anyone who seemed to be sympathetic, supportive or affectionate. Any man worth his salt who has thought of these things would wait. He’s giving you time to consider and reflect, and also giving you a chance to meet other young men.’ She patted Rosalie’s arm. ‘That’s my opinion,’ she said. ‘I might be totally wrong. And,’ she sighed, ‘I’m probably not the right person to give advice to anyone.’